Back
by Weskette
Summary: Chris's inability to cope with being kicked out of the BSAA troubles Jill just as much as he's troubled by it.


**Back**

Knuckles came down hard on a door that the owner of the hand the knuckles were on knew wouldn't open unless she opened it herself. She did so, finding the living room of her lover's (could he even be called that anymore? No, not really) apartment empty.

"Chris?" she spoke. There was no answer, not that she expected one with how he had been lately.

Chris had been forcibly retired from the BSAA. They believed he had become too emotionally unstable due to an outburst at a fellow agent. Jill (was she even Jill anymore? She didn't feel like she was) had taken on the responsibility of taking care of him. He was a wreck the first month. He barely ate, didn't talk, and didn't look twice at her when she tried to cheer him up. Five months later, little had changed. He spoke more, but by that it meant he answered her questions.

She found him laying on his back on his bed. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and he was staring at the ceiling.

"Did you eat this morning?"

"Yes."

"What did you eat?"

"Cereal."

"What do you want for lunch?"

"I don't care."

She sighed. She had given up on trying to comfort him with soft touches and quiet words. She was fed up with how he chose to act like a child, completely dependent on her. She loved him, but she didn't need to be tied to him when he gave absolutely nothing back to her. He wasn't thankful, he didn't attempt anything. She felt she was nothing to him. She walked slowly to the kitchen and threw together a plate for him; a turkey sandwich and some chips. He appeared from down the hall, standing in the doorway of the kitchen and rubbing his eyes as though he had just woke up. "Here," she spoke, setting the plate down with a loud clink.

He glanced around the kitchen. "Are... Aren't you going to eat?" She was almost surprised he was talking without being first addressed.

"No," she answered flatly. Food was bland and heavy on her tongue. She hadn't eaten for the week do to plain non-interest in food. He looked at her -actually looked at her- and for the first time in months, really saw her. She was frowning, and her blue eyes (he remembered them as bright and happy) were dull and listless. Her shoulders sagged and one arm hung limp at her side while the other rested partially on the counter.

She walked past him, ignorant of his gaze. He turned and spoke. "Jill."

She paused, a hand settling on the frame of the door. "I don't know who that is anymore."

Slowly, Chris approached, setting his hands on her shoulders. She was tense and his touch did nothing to relax her. He was no longer who she depended on. Once, he had been her rock; he had been solid and firm and always there. Now he was water. No, not water. Water held people up if they could float. He was like air; he held up nothing but clouds, whispy thoughts or dreams with no real value.

He slipped his arms around her. Still, the tension remained in her body. Every muscle was coiled, full of energy and ready to flee, if only to end the torture of his feelings or lack thereof.

"Jill..." He had a question that he needed to ask her. The sudden clarity in his head (he had made it through the fog in his head only to see her trapped in her own) had brought him back. "Do... Do you still love me?" He prayed the answer would be no. He didn't deserve her love after how he had been acting.

She pulled out of his arms and whirled on him. "Of course I do." Her voice was cold with anger. "Nobody means anymore to me than you!" Her fists clenched anger and grief rising up to take control of her brain. "But it's very obvious the feeling is _not_ mutual." Her tone was flat and barely showed the anger bubbling in her core. "For months, you haven't even given me a second glance. You didn't even object when I moved out!" Her anger was apparent, showing in her voice as she stepped forward, Her heart burned with the pain of being forgotten. "I came back everyday to make sure you were okay! To make sure you ate, or showered, or got dressed! And you fucking ask that?!" Her eyes flashed, refusing to cry. "Not to m-" He cut her off by pressing his lips to hers, his hands on either side of her face. Her all too tense body went limp, held up only by him. His taste was something she had been craving for longer than she could remember. Her eyes no longer wanted to cry, but as they pulled away from each other, she realized he was.

"Jill, forgive me..." he pled. "I do love you, so much." He buried his face in the side of her neck, trying to muffle his tears.

"Shh..." she mumbled softly. "I... I forgive you. It's all right."

She led him to a couch, helping him sit and allowing him to envelope her and sob against her. She kissed his face, his neck, his hands, trying to comfort him and let him know all was forgiven. He clung to her, not wanting her to leave (not that she ever had or ever would). She held his face in her hands, wiping the tears away with her thumbs. Jill was reminded of her own return, though for her it had been a physical return. His was completely mental. Coming back from Africa, Chris had held her for so many nights, helping ease her sobs. Now the tables had been turned. She was his rock; she held him up. He was suddenly there for her again though. At that moment, he was weak, but she had hope he would be himself again.

She kissed the corner of his mouth and ran a hand through his hair. Slowly but surely, his sobs quieted.

Jill took a deep breath and hummed quietly to him as he settled down on her, head resting above her breasts. He fell asleep. He was heavy, but she didn't really care at that moment. She was glad he was returning to her, though they'd have to work through some things when he woke. His warmth sank into her and settled in her bones. She kissed the top of his head.

If he was back, then so was she.


End file.
